


Jack and Indy's big day out (Don't tell mummy about the Weevil)

by Arnica



Series: Blocking your own shot [9]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-15 12:59:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1305688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arnica/pseuds/Arnica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack and Indiana have a very big day planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jack and Indy's big day out (Don't tell mummy about the Weevil)

“Now Nursery is only half days in the summer, so he won’t be due there until eleven.” Jack forces one eye open and watches Ianto dressing through the open closet doors. The Welshman’s long fingers are busy threading a narrow black leather belt through the tabs on his slacks and Jack lets himself be distracted for a second before snorting.

“I’m not taking him to nursery school when he doesn’t have to go. I’m free most the day, he can just stay with me.” On his chest Indy grunts sleepily in annoyance that his favorite sleeping spot is talking and Jack snorts and pokes the rounded side of a bare brown little belly until blue-grey eyes pop open. “Want to play hooky with me today, Agent?”

“Ni-nis.”

 

“Night-nights now, hooky after mummy and daddy leave to save the world from paperwork.” Indiana’s enthusiasm is rarely dimmed by having very little idea what the adults around him are talking about. He reaches up and pats Jack’s face with a chubby little hand that comes very close to jabbing him in the eye a couple of times.

 

“Y’ssss.” He hisses because he hasn’t stopped hissing his agreements for a week now. “Ni-nis.”

 

“Well, that’s you told, isn’t it?” Ianto strides out of the closet, adjusting the collar on his shirt. “He can’t stay with you Jack, you have appointments today.”

 

“It’s half an hour worth of paperwork with UNIT. I’m taking the bridge over, I’ll be in Bristol maybe an hour. I’ll be less than that if I have someone willing to soil themselves and cry until I have a reason to leave with me.”

 

“What are you going to do when he’s too old to use as a convenient excuse not to do things you don’t want to?” Ianto smirks back over his shoulder at Jack as he perches on the edge of the bed to put his socks on.

 

“Retire.” Ianto rolls his eyes and pads across the floor in his black socks.

 

“No you won’t. Take him to nursery Jack, you’ve got things to do today.” Ianto kisses his son and Jack misses the suit and tie when there’s nothing to grab his lover by and use to tug him over. “I’m serious.”

 

“I hear you.” Ianto’s giving him a long narrow eyed look that Cheyenne completely ruins by coming through the door at a run and flinging herself onto the bed, scrambling across it to pepper Indiana’s face with loud smacking kisses until he’s wide awake, squirming off Jack and wiggling all across the bed in escape.

 

“Good morning! Good morning, Good morning, Good morning!” Cheyenne crawls across the bed, chasing her giggling infant with kisses until the two of them end up on the other side of Ianto, rolling around in a clump of laughing, flailing limbs that leaves Jack dodging stocking clad feet as Cheyenne flops over onto her back and hoists the squirming boy up with a grunt over her head before setting him upright on her stomach. “So many good kisses! Obviously I need no kisses but yours; tell Daddy and Jack ‘haha, I got all of mummy’s kisses’!”

 

“Ha. Mumma  _mwah_!” And because he’s a cheeky little thing, Indy turns around and grins at Jack and Ianto, making kissing faces before turning back and throwing himself face first at his mother. She catches him seconds before his face can make a very serious impact against her own, letting him cover her with larger wetter kisses.

 

“Well friend, this not sharing mummy thing is not going fly around here. Budge over.” Ianto leans down, and kisses his son, grinning as the boy grumbles and lets loose a long string of baby babble, trying to scold Ianto and physically reach out and push his father’s face away from where Ianto’s lips are pressed to Cheyenne’s cheek.

 

“ _’Top_! Mumma, Da mwah  _no_!”

 

“Da kisses mummy, yes. I’ll kiss you too.” Which is apparently a better idea the way Indiana scrambles back upright and throws his face up for Ianto, although Jack’s not entirely sure if the boy wants to be kissed or just wants Ianto  _not_  kissing Cheyenne. From the smirk on Ianto’s face as Indy grins at him and then drapes himself back across his mother in a satisfied slump that leaves no room for his parents to cuddle, Ianto’s not sure either. “You’re entirely too clever for your own good friend. Come on,” Ianto reaches down and brushes a stray wisp of hair off Cheyenne’s face. “We should get going soon.”

 

Because even with the Rift on shut down someone still has to feed the wildlife, do the payroll, check-in on the resident alien population, and keep in touch with Flat Holm. Jack’s been doing it on his own for years, but this year Ianto passed out a rota and so far everyone but Gwen has been required to take one day and come in long enough to feed Myfanwy and the weevils. Mostly it’s an in- and- out job, once in the mid-morning and once in the mid-afternoon, but today Cheyenne and Ianto are both taking off for what is essentially a full shift. In addition to Weevils and a dinosaur to feed, a pay packet is due in from London in the three o clock mail and three conference calls are still scheduled at eight am, one pm, and six-thirty. And since that’s less than four hours of work strung out across an almost ten hour day, they’ve also got reservations for lunch and some kind of mid-afternoon date involving an art show about tattoos planned.

 

“I’m going. Alright you, go see Jack and have a good day at school.” Indy looks back and forth between Jack and his mother, very obviously weighing out if fussing is worth it before sighing in resignation and curling up in Jack’s arms.

 

“I’m not taking him to nursery school.” Ianto opens his mouth to argue and Cheyenne shrugs, rolling off the bed and adjusting the now twisted lines of her butter yellow dress. The bottom drags along the floor until she perches on the edge of Jack’s wingback and wiggles her feet into bright blue stacked heels tall enough to leave a good four or five inches of space between the hem and the carpet.

 

“Okay.” She walks past the bed to pick through the small jewelry box on the vanity, watching the three of them through the mirror’s reflection as she puts in her earrings.

 

“Cheyenne…”

 

“He’s taking him to a UNIT base. If it’s anything like a SHIELD base it’ll be far safer and more boring than taking him to the HUB, Ianto.” It’s hard not to grin at the annoyed little furrow to Ianto brow reflected back at Jack when the younger man steps up behind Chy to fasten the clasp of the chain she’s dangling in his direction. “Besides, he’ll change his mind at ten-thirty when he realizes he really doesn’t have a good excuse for why the boss is carting the archivists’ and the linguist’s kid around on the week off.”

 

“I’m starting to think you don’t know me very well if you think I need any excuse for anything I do, other than being Captain Jack Harkness.” He winks at her reflection when she rolls her eyes.

 

“Oh no, we’ve woken the ego; time to go before he starts listing the ‘Five Hundred Things Jack Harkness Does Better than Anyone Else’. Right, you two have fun playing hooky from daycare.” Cheyenne leans down and her tongue still carries a hint of toothpaste when it brushes his before the palm of Indiana’s hand presses against his face and starts trying to shove him away.

 

“ _No_! J’ck mumma no mwah!  _Mine!_ ” He pulls back from the softness of her mouth with a chuckle.

 

“Now see what you’ve done? This isn’t going to be cute in a week.”

 

“Not to you two, it won’t.” Cheyenne ignores the enraged shriek of her son to lean in and kiss Jack once more. “Bye.”

 

“Bye.” Ianto’s still giving him a narrow eyed look as he leans down and kisses the top of Indiana’s head.

 

“You should take him to school.”

 

“I should, but I won’t.” The Welshman growls in annoyance but comes without complaint when Jack snags the front of Ianto’s shirt and uses it to tug the mortal man down and press their mouths together in a quick kiss. “Have fun at the gallery.”

 

“We will.” Ianto pulls back to see Indy ignoring them, busy tugging the corner of the sheet up to cover his face, playing a small game of peek-a-boo with his mother. “Ready?”

 

“Ready!” Cheyenne’s face appears from behind her folded hands and Indy cheers and claps. “Bye fatty!”

 

“Chy!” Ianto has her by the arm and just like that they’re gone for the day. Faintly Jack can hear the back door being closed as Cheyenne shoos the dogs out of the house and then the engine of her little yellow corvette rumbles up through the open bedroom window as they drive away. Jack looks over at Indiana, who quickly yanks the sheet over his face and begins to giggle.

 

“Oh no, I lost him! Woe! It’s only been a minute and already I’ve lost their son, what do I do now?!” The sheet covered lump sits there, half exposed and giddy with his own hiding cleverness as Jack loudly looks under the pillows and on the ceiling for where Indy’s ‘disappeared’ to. “He’s nowhere! I’ll just have to ask him to come out. Where’s Indy?” Mussed black curls pop into view as the sheet is ripped away. “Boo!” The boy’s shriek is ear splittingly happy before the sheet is yanked up again.

 

Peek-a-boo goes on easily ten minutes longer than any adult has a right to play it with any kind of enthusiasm before Jack rolls the two of them out of the bed to start their day at a lazy quarter past nine. Breakfast is half a banana for each hand jammed into a pile of cheerios with a bottle full of milk close at hand and afterwards Indy spends his entire bath patting bubbles into Jack’s hair and Jack’s entire shower complaining about being stuck into the collapsible pen that the immortal man has pulled out of the closet in the nursery and shoved him into. Indiana shows Jack the new trick Ianto’s been lamenting over for two days, the deliberate removal of his arms from his sleeves and by the third attempt to get him into the little button down shirt that’s foiled by a quick wiggle and squirm, Jack gives up and tugs a bright yellow bodysuit over the boys’ head and chuckles smugly as the infant scowls.

 

“There we go. Very handsome.” Indy doesn’t care much about being handsome, but he’s got his face clenched up into a grimace that’s wobbling on the edge of tears as Jack wrestles clenched little feet into small mostly shapeless socks. “I’m not having it.” He thumps the boy down onto his feet. “Go get your nappies and Fay.” They trek up and down the stair three times as Jack alternately forgets the wipes to accompany the diapers, a backup outfit for the boy, and his own spare ammunition in an attempt to pack for the day.

 

“I don’t know how your dad makes this look easy, friend. I’ve been doing this a lot longer than he’s been alive and he  _still_ makes it look easier than it actually is. Okay, we’ve got my bag, your bag, my keys, your nuk, my gun and Fay.” Indiana shoves the blue lovey into the air as the man calls the toy by name. Gwen is still thrilled that the stuffed blue pteranadon is the toy the Indy prefers to have around above any other. The soft plush crest of the dinosaur is deformed from so much chewing during teething and Jack doesn’t dare leave the house for more than a quick trip to the shops without the thing. “That means we’re set. Ready Agent?”

 

“Y’ssss.”

 

“Where on Earth did you get this hissing thing from? Weirdo. Come on.” Jack plucks Indy up from where he’s been following Jack through the downstairs in that same cringe inducing head down run he’s been using as his primary means of movement since April and makes sure the diaper bag doesn’t block his holster before unlocking the front door.

 

He’s still getting used to having his own running vehicle again for the first time in a good decade. He put off buying this one for as long as he could until Chy popped into his office back in April, demanded he take her shopping and then drove them directly to the nearest dealership where she kept them until he picked out the big blue SUV. It’s almost as large as the Torchwood vehicle, which is far more space than he normally needs, but he wanted the room to install armor on the body panels as well as the undercarriage.

 

Indy goes into his car seat with no more fuss than normal, arguing nonsense and shaking his tiny plush dinosaur at Jack to emphasize his point. Jack makes encouraging noises in the back of his throat as he wrestles Indiana into his five-point harness, agreeing with whatever the boy is complaining about. He’s pretty sure he’s being told to get the dogs, which is obviously not happening, but it doesn’t stop him from promising to ‘get right on that’ as he clicks the last strap into place. Indiana pouts up at him with a mouth that’s almost a perfect replica of his mums’ turned down into a grimace that is purely his father’s.

 

“I ta an bawn t’k ba’ mu an I ta daw, J’ck!” It’s absolute nonsense that is definitely about the dogs and possibly Cheyenne.

 

“Absolutely. As soon as we go do my errands first.” He tugs the tiniest pair of shades he’s ever held out of the overhead compartment and settles them carefully on the bridge of that wide, up tilted nose before pulling his own set down and sliding them on. “There we go.  _Now_  we look good enough to invade Bristol.”

 

***

 

“And  _that’s_  why I’m signing articles of cooperation one handed while you completely ignore me and give the keys to weapons of mass destruction to a fourteen month old.”

 

“I’m only kind of ignoring you.” Charlie doesn’t even bother looking at him to say it, dangling what Jack is pretty sure is England’s half of the Osterhagen Key overhead. Indy ignores it, far more interested in petting the loose waves of bright ginger hair that had started the meeting in a very precise braid. “I’ll tell you this, my boss wouldn’t babysit for me during a meeting. If I ever spawned, that is. Which I won’t.” Finally the bright titanium key being dangled overhead catches Indiana’s attention and he untangles his fist from the thick auburn clump he’s been stroking gently to yank it from Charlie’s hand and pop it directly into his mouth. “He’s been so quiet, he’s such a  _good_  baby.”

 

“He only seems like that to someone who’s never seen him rule my base with a teeny-tiny iron fist.”

 

“Good, we could use a new boss over there who will actually  _keep_  working with us once I’m gone. One who doesn’t actively hate us and actually  _signs_  the papers we send over.” She smirks at him where he’s put his pen down and is fishing out a Tupperware full of teddy bear shaped biscuits, shaking it temptingly until Indy drops the key to the table and takes a bear for each hand.

 

“Well he can’t write yet so you’re stuck with me a while longer.” He scrawls his name across the last page and nudges the titanium skeleton key across the table. “Also, don’t give him the Osterhagen key; his mother will have my head if she ever finds out I’ve been letting her one year old slobber on weapons of that caliber.” At least Charlie looks guilty, yanking the key ring back across the table and wiping baby spit off the shiny surface.

 

“It’s  _not_  the Osterhagen Key, which, by the way, I am neither confirming nor denying the United Kingdom possessing, nor the existence of said object.” She scowls as Jack just grins at her, stacking the papers as neatly as he can with one hand and passing it across to her to review and sign off on as well. “Damn. Why do you  _always_  know what stuff we have?”

 

“Because I’m Torchwood.” He laughs as she huffs at him, flipping through the thick packets of papers and scribbling her name next to Jack’s everywhere it’s signed. She signs her name a last time with a flourish and from the corner of his eye Jack sees the bowl of teddy grahams that Indy’s been helping himself to teeter on the edge of the table. He snatches it from danger, saving the thick grey carpet from having roughly a couple dozen little bear shaped biscuits from being ground into it.

 

“Well then  _Torchwood_ , you should have known that the L.T.U.M guns we’ve had in research overseas arrived today. I  _thought_ we’d go test some out, fire off a couple in the air but since you’re babysitting…”

 

“No, we can still do that. He’ll love it. You’ll see. Come on.”

 

Indiana  _loves_  the bomb range. He loves the ear protectors that are half the size of his head and the way he can hear Jack in the built in mics. They dwarf his small chubby face as Indy presses them against his ears; squealing with glee when he hears Jack whisper his name into the open line to draw his attention outside. He likes the targeting system even more than the headphones, pressing his tiny hands against the blast resistant glass and watching the huge cat-tread tractor pull the giant sledge with the massive Lower Troposphere to Upper Mesosphere gun past the ballistics shelter and park it almost half-a- kilometer down the bomb range.

 

“We’ve been working with SHIELD’s weapon and research teams for almost a year and this targeting system is beautiful, watch.” Out on the range the barrel of the weapon, easily thirty feet long, begins to strobe a pulse of brilliant teal light up and down the barrel faster and faster. “Eyes to the sky for the drone.”

 

“Indy, look up at the plane.” Overhead, an unmanned drone is flying in evasive maneuvers; piloted remotely from the corner by a very serious looking kid who looks more like a student than a soldier. Indiana is bobbing his head back and forth, looking with wide eyed rapture between the wheeling, rolling bright red remote drone overhead and the rapidly pulsing lights running up and down the barrel before they burst upwards, remarkably bright in the slightly overcast daylight. The streaks of light sweep the sky, searching out the fast little remote plane. A single beam nicks the edge of a wing as the drone rolls too far left trying to avoid another beam. Immediately the rest of the beams have locked on, and Indiana is squirming excitedly in Jack’s arms as off to their right the pilot is leaning intently in towards his screen. Outside, the drone breaks into the kind of evasive maneuvers that would endanger a pilot in a cockpit without ever shifting the beams off the done no matter how fast it dives, climbs, or rolls. Next to him Charlie reaches up and taps her mic.

 

“Fire.” The racing ring of light that’s been dashing back and forth up and down the barrel of the weapon bursts up along the path of the targeting lights and Indiana claps his hands excitedly as a brilliant teal orb of light impacts the drone, and turns it into nothing more than a very large fireworks splash of flaming fuel and alien light.

 

“Boys. You’re all the same when it comes to explosions.” The woman snorts and reaches over, ruffling the baby’s hair. “So, that’s planet Earth’s new airborne defense system. We’re going to be installing it on the Valiant this week. She’s already wet-docked off of the isle of Man. Did you know those idiots offered me  _continued_  leave while it’s being fitted? Apparently I’m supposed to still be scared of my own bloody airship. I wasn’t scared then, bloody shrinks.”

 

“What did you tell them?”

 

“I told them to shove it sideways, what do you think I told them?” There are the first thin streaks of grey starting to show in her hair as Charlie tucks it back behind her ear. “The Valiant is  _my_  post. I let them move me for a year while they broke her down and rewrote all her programs to run without Archangel but there’s no bloody chance they’re reassigning me off my ship.”

 

“Good. Valiant is a good program; it needs good officers on board.” Behind them aides and pilots work quietly at their respective stations and five drones, each piloted by its own baby faced soldier in a red cap, bursts up into the air and begin to evade while climbing. “How’s the new furniture?”

 

“Not as pretentious as the old shite, but it’s comfortable and it hasn’t been busted apart, piled onto the airstrip, and set on fire so that’s a plus.” She chuckles under her breath. “According to the money men you ‘led’ that mob in the destruction of two hundred and forty thousand pounds of furnishings and equipment.”

 

“I know. UNIT billed Torchwood for the damages.” He shifts Indy from one hip to the other as they watch the targeting system separate, each beam locking onto its own drone before charging five simultaneous globes of light.

 

“You’re bloody kidding me.” He almost doesn’t notice her outrage, busy admiring the quick way the auto targeting begins sweeping in a widening spiral that’s going to be impossible for the planes to avoid for long. The color of the light makes him think that at some point, somewhere outside of Torchwood’s jurisdiction, UNIT has had a run in with the Okimpino.

 

“Nope. I paid for it out of pocket on a couple different cards and it’s still my favorite bill to sign every month. Oooh, Indy look.” Five separate drones fall from the sky at the same time. “I like it. Who gets to play with it?”

 

“Well, SHIELD gets some since they helped develop the technology…”

 

“You mean they helped reverse engineer the tech.”

 

“A little of column A and little of column B.” In his arms Indy is squirming, reaching up to pat Jack on the face to get his attention.

 

“J’ck! J’ck!”

 

“I see, look at those pretty explosions. Boom! Look, he’s blowing up another one!” Indy turns his attention back to where Jack’s tapping on the glass. “So, SHIELD gets one for ground to air…”

 

“America gets  _two_ smaller ones, actually, because we’ve got the one and then Torchwood gets two mini-cannons adapted using that gun tech salvaged from Canary Wharf. They’re entirely too big for anyone to carry, but as you’re so fond of telling everyone, you’re  _Torchwood_. I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”

 

“I’ve been trying to get a mini-tank approved into my budget for a decade now. This should be a pretty good reason, right? I _need_ a mini-tank to mount my laser pulse mini-cannon on.”

 

“Good luck with that. Come on, I’ll send some grunt running for his car seat and we’ll take all this out to the range. You can see your new mini-cannon in action.”

 

“Sounds good to me.”

 

***

 

They still both smell ever so slightly of scorched ozone and explosions and Jack knows he should really head home and make lunch but he can’t be bothered. Instead they pull into the nearest chip stand before they even make it back to Wales and he sits backwards on the bench, leaning back against the table top with Indiana in his lap. The baby alternates gnawing the fries he’s got clenched in both fists down to slobbery nubs before throwing the remains to the gathering mob of gulls creeping ever closer. The birds bicker and fight over the fries and the boy squeals with glee.

 

“No, Indy. Don’t feed the birds. They’re going to try and take your chips.”

 

“No!” This is a mind-blowing betrayal. Those big grey eyes narrow suspiciously at the gulls and Jack tries not to laugh at the slow way the boy closes his fingers back around the fry ends.

 

“Yes. Don’t feed them, Agent. They’re yucky, bad birds. Eat your own chips.” Indiana does not eat his own chips, dropping the spit wet ends directly underneath their feet to shove both hands out demandingly at Jack when he goes to dip a chunk of cod into his vinegar.

 

“Mine?”

 

“Agent, ‘mine’ and ‘please’ are not, actually, interchangeable.” A lesson he’s hardly reinforcing as he breaks off a flaky white bite and pops it into the open mouth. Indy closes his eyes, humming in pleasure and under them the crowd of birds that has been creeping closer has closed in enough for one big gull to feel brave enough to make a run towards the fries at their feet. Indiana rocks back from the charging bird and Jack whips out his foot, missing the animal by centimeters as it wings backwards in alarm. “Piss off!”

 

“P’ss!” The next table whips their heads around as one unit, two young teenage girls snickering behind their hands while an unimpressed mother gives him a long flat stare. In his arms, Indiana buries his face in Jack’s chest, peeking out through the flop of curls in his face to smile shyly at the girls while Jack grins apologetically at the woman, winking just to watch her flush across the top of her cheeks and look away as her daughters start to giggle.

 

“Oh, we are a danger, aren’t we?”

 

“Y’ss.” His phone rings in the pocket of his jeans and Jack digs it out, sliding his thumb across the touchscreen to answer before squishing it between his neck and shoulder to pop the last bite of fish into Indiana’s mouth.

 

“Harkness.”

 

“Joe’s cancelled,  _again,_  and I can’t get your grandson out of his funkso you can come round for a bit today if you’ve got the time but you know the rules. The guns, the rest of it, none of it comes in my house.” His daughter’s voice is terse with annoyance, it often is when she’s been dealing with her ex-husband, and Jack surges to his feet and puts Indy on his hip, hurriedly gathering up the debris of their lunch.

 

“Yeah, Yeah I’d love to come round today! I’m already in England, just down the road actually, I can be there in an hour? No, a little less than that.” Indy’s looking at him curiously as Jack jams the trash in the closest bin. “Did he at least send the money for the car note?” The way she sucks her breath in through clenched teeth is all the answer he needs. “It’s fine, I’ve got my check book with me.” At least he’s pretty sure he does. It doesn’t matter though, since there are at least three branches of his bank between Bristol and Worchester, all with cashier’s checks available.

 

“You don’t have to pay my bills, Jack.” At least she’s not bothering to put any real fight behind the argument this time.

 

“I know. I’ll be there shortly.”

 

***

 

Alice lives in Worchester, well outside of the Rift’s reach, and Jack idles at the stop sign leading into his daughter’s neighborhood because he’s still got Indiana with him; caught without a good reason to show up and drop the boy with his parents at the Hub when he’s running around with the day off.

 

Particularly when Indy should be in nursery school right anyway.

 

“Now listen up, Agent. I need you to be cute, be small, and most of all be an effective shield because my little girl is mean and may attack before I can say ‘he’s not mine’ so just remember; be cute and effective.”

 

Behind him Indiana says nothing, sound asleep with his thumb in his mouth the way he’s been the last forty minutes of the trip. His resemblance to Ianto when they’re both sleeping isn’t lessening as he gets bigger; the faintly incredulous tilt of their brows when they dream and the way the curve of their lashes fluttering on their cheeks match perfectly, and between haircuts Ianto has that exact curl over his left eye. Indy sighs deeply, starting to stir and Jack turns onto the street, pulling into the driveway of an over-large two story, cutting the engine. He grips the wheel, flexing his fingers until they pop before sliding out of the driver’s seat and cradling the sleeping child in his off hand. His gun may be locked in the dash, but there’s still a shock baton in his holster. He rings the bell, waits patiently and is in the process of shifting Indy into a slightly more comfortable position when Alice slings the door open. Her stiffly welcoming smile melts away under the force of eyes rolled so hard Jack’s impressed she doesn’t hurt herself.

 

“For God’s sake, Jack, really?”

 

“ _No_ , he belongs to my archivist and my linguist. I’m sitting today while they man the fort as a two man skeleton crew. Don’t be mad, you’re still my baby.” She snorts, wrinkling her nose as Jack kisses her forehead like she’s resisting the urge to wipe it off. “Where’s Steven?”

 

“Out in the yard, moping.”

 

“Well, I’ll put a stop to that. Get me a blanket to spread out under the tree to lay him on?” Most of the time Alice reminds him of her mother; she has Lucia’s cheekbones, the slant of her eyes, and the bow of her lip but her expressions, almost every one of them are Jack’s mother’s expressions, including the exasperation.

 

“You’re not laying that baby on the ground out in the yard. The two of you will start rough-housing around and the poor little thing will end up catching a football to that precious little face.” Now that she knows she’s not his sister Alice leans in closer, expression softening as she brushes Indiana’s curls out of his eyes.

 

“No he won’t.” She reaches out and scoops Indiana out of his arms, giving a little grunt of surprise as she adjusts her grip for more weight than she’d prepared for.

 

“He’s a big boy then, isn’t he?”

 

“You should see his father.” It’s out before he can stop himself and Alice whips away, scoffing in disgust.

 

“ _Really_ , Jack?”

 

“Sorry.” She yanks the diaper bag from his shoulder and Jack resigns himself, again, to the fact that he’s unlikely to ever manage a visit where she doesn’t say his name like that. “He’ll be _fine_  in the yard.”

 

“And he’ll be  _more_  fine in the sitting room with me.” She scoffs at herself and Jack wonders if she knows how much she sounds like him when she makes that sound. “Listen to me, ‘more fine’. You’re a bad influence Jack. Go play with your grandson.”

 

Steven’s slumped on the grass, half-heartedly pushing matchbox cars up a dirt ramp when Jack creeps up behind him and hurls his grandson into the air with a roar.

 

“Uncle Jack!” Steven twists in mid-air like a cat and Jack scoops him up before gravity can reassert itself. His grandson is seven, wide eyed and fine boned in a way that breaks Jack’s heart a little every time he sees how much Steven looks like Grey at that age. 

 

“Hiya, Soldier! I was bored and wondered if you’d like to keep me company for a while today?”

 

“Really?” He squeals with glee, wrapping his limbs around Jack like an octopus in case the man disappears.

 

“Yep.”

 

They manage to get in a pretty fantastic forty minutes of rolling around on the ground and are in the middle of using weeds and leafy branches cut off the back sides of Alice’s hedges to landscape the small sandpit in the corner of the lawn to resemble the moon on Actodin 7 where Jack spent two weeks in the underground jungles without ever stepping foot on the surface. A plastic Batman is buried up to his waist in the sand being menaced by seven green army men when Indiana begins fussing inside the house and Steven forgets all about their carefully arranged scenario.

 

“A baby? I have a  _cousin_?” He’s up in a sandy, grass stained whirlwind, sprinting across the lawn while Jack’s still pushing to his feet and dusting grass off his knees. By the time he makes it in the kitchen door Alice is already standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the sitting room, fussing at her son as he crouches upside down over Indiana not to loom. She breaks off with a huff when Jack holds up his hand, pressing over against the far side of the doorway to make room for her father to watch Indy reach up and poke at the big boy’s face.

 

“Don’t let him yank your hair.”

 

“I don’t care if he pulls my hair, I  _like_  babies. I’ve wanted a brother for  _ages_  now, but mum won’t give me one.” Next to him, his daughter stiffens and he reaches out without looking, rubbing his knuckles between his shoulder blades.

 

“And that’s your mum’s decision, Steven.” Her shoulders drop slowly and Jack knows to pull his hand back now.

 

“Well,  _you_  have a baby now Uncle Jack; that’s  _almost_  as good.” Steven beams up at him and Jack grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck.

 

“Not quite. Sorry to disappoint soldier, I’m just sitting today. That’s Indiana, his parents are friends of mine, so I’m watching him while they work today.”

 

“Aw, I’ll  _never_  get a baby!” Steven flops over onto the floor in a melodramatic pile and Indy crawls over to him, scrambling over the bigger boy like a playground.

 

“Watch out if he goes in for a kiss, he’s been biting lately and he only has eight teeth but they’re sharp.” Indy doesn’t try to kiss or bite, yanking of the hem of Steven’s shirt and half crawling into it while Steven writhes and laughs on the floor.

 

“What’s he doing?”

 

“He’s playing peek-a-boo. Watch. Where’s Indy?” The hem of Steven’s shirt is yanked to the side as a mussed laughing head jackrabbits up. “Boo!” He disappears again and Steven grins up at his grandfather in delight.

 

“My turn!” Where’s Indy?” The peek out is slower this time as Indiana gives Steven a suspicious look. “Boo!” It’s a bit loud and Jack watches Indy’s face wobble as he tries to decide if he needs to call for backup before Steven wiggles his hands in the air with a grin, creeping them closer as if to tickle and just that quick the potential tears have dried and disappeared along with Indiana, back under the hem of the oversized cartoon covered tee.

 

“Well, I think they’ve got the playing pretty well covered.” He looks over at his daughter smiling as she sips at her mug. “Could I get some of that coffee?”

 

Alice makes  _terrible_  coffee. Even before he had Ianto’s coffee to compare it to, Jack knew that her coffee tended towards being over- brewed and occasionally burnt but he still has a cup every time he comes by. She smirks and he follows her into the kitchen bracing himself while she adds the sugar and passes it across the table. It’s extra horrid today and Jack wonders, not for the first time, if she makes it that way on purpose just to see if he’ll drink it.

 

They don’t talk much and what they do say is primarily about Steven, nursing the bad brew in their hands until Jack reaches into his pocket and pulls out his checkbook. The number he scrawls out is well more than she needs for her car payment and she makes an entirely too familiar face of annoyance and frustration as her pride tries to go to war with her bank account and loses.

 

“This is too much money, Jack.”

 

“I know.” He snags her still mostly full mug and tips it into the sink along with his empty one. “Which means that once you’re done running errands you can go do something else without your kid hanging off you.” He walks away from the sink and back towards the sitting room. Inside, Steven is flopped face down on the couch as Indy grips on to the arm and babbles excitedly at him. “Besides, Indiana is having a ball. He’s got a cousin that age, throw in a couple bloody dogs and he’s right at home. We’re fine.”

 

“Don’t let him eat snacks and watch telly while you spoil them all day; I’m sure your employees won’t appreciate it any more than I do. Steven has to do forty minutes piano practice today, and don’t let him get away with just running warm ups and scales the entire time either. He knows that he needs to play at least two pieces through when he practices.” She’s already got her keys in her hand as she squeezes by him to look down at her son. “I have a couple errands to run. Do you want to go with me or do you want to stay with Jack?”

 

“Uncle Jack!”

 

“J’ck!” Indy announces, because obviously Alice was asking him as well. She pats his hair and gives Steven a long look while the boy gives her the biggest eyes he can make.

 

“Fine. Have fun, be good, and  _practice your piano_. I’ll be back before supper.”

 

Jack almost gets her out the door and on her way to the bank before Alice locks her jaw, turns around and shoves the folded check back at him.

 

“I can’t. It’s too much.”

 

“I’m not taking it back.” They’re glaring at each other in the front hall as she keeps the folded paper thrust in his direction between two fingers.

 

“Take it or I’ll just rip it in half.”

 

“I will add five hundred pounds every time I have to write a new one, if you rip that in half.”

 

“You wouldn’t.”

 

“The crown is grateful for my work and has been for a very long time. You’ll get tired of ripping checks before I go broke.” They stare at each other silently for a long moment before Alice sighs in resignation. “Just take the check, go pay your bills, and then you do whatever you want with the rest, as long as you take it.” He reaches around her to open the door, taking her by the shoulder and turning her towards the open exit as she sticks the paper back into her purse. She yelps in shocked annoyance as he loudly kisses the top of her head before knuckling it triumphantly. He’s been her ‘big brother’ for years now, but that’s not a story that’s going to last much longer. His baby girl turns thirty-six this year and she’s already starting to look a little older than he is. He’s going to enjoy all the big protective gestures while he can because it’s not going to be long before she starts introducing him as her ‘little brother’ Jack. “Go  _away_. Don’t come back until you’ve had something to eat and done something fun. He’s  _fine._ ”

 

“Fine, but…” He shuts the door firmly in his daughter’s face before she can read him off the same set of rules she gives him every time he manages to talk her into giving up his grandson for an hour or two. He holds his breath as he hears the car start, waiting for her to remember that she hasn’t made him promise to keep Steven at the house. Instead her little Ford pulls away down the street and stays gone as he turns away from the door with a grin.

 

“Right.” He claps his hands as he enters the sitting room and the boys look up from where they seem to be taking turns chasing each other around the coffee table. “Your mum says piano. You don’t  _have_  to do it now, but we’re not leaving until you do.”

 

“We’re going out? Are we going to play at the park?” 

 

“Your mum didn’t say we couldn’t.” He holds out a hand palm open so Stephen can run by and slap it in a dramatic slow motion run, hunkering down when Indiana charges at him smacking at the air to give him five as well.

 

“Do we get ice cream too?”

 

“It depends on your arpeggios. Come on, let’s do this so we can go play.”

 

***

 

Jack’s rule about not leaving until after piano practice last exactly long enough for him to look in disgust at the one book of the most boring over played classical pieces children have ever been made to play. Every song in the book is older than Jack and he has no doubt that this book is exactly why his grandson is rolling his eyes and groaning as he trudges towards the bench. It’s the work of a few minutes to find the closest music store on his phone, so Jack loads the boys into the back of his truck and heads for Donavans.

 

“Uncle Jack, how many songs can I get?” They’ve been in the store less than five minutes and already Steven has an armful of sheet music from where he ran directly for the back wall.

 

“As many as you’re willing to learn. Start a pile on the counter next to the register.” There aren’t many places other than the middle of the walkways where Indy’s busy hands aren’t within reach of some instrument or another and Jack is starting to rethink his positioning close enough to the drum kits that chubby little fingertips can just reach the edge of the cymbals. So far the infant has been content to stroke the top half softly and try to mimic the soft susurrations of sound, but Jack is silently counting down to the minute Indiana discovers that hitting it harder will make a louder sound.

 

“He can play with this.” The woman from behind the counter has come out, an eight inch rattle covered with jingle bells held out in front of her. “It’s a little less dramatic than the crash cymbals.” And because Indiana has inherited his mother’s sense of over dramatic timing, he waits until Jack is reaching gratefully for the bell stick to draw back his arm and smack his palm down on the top of the cymbals hard enough to crash them together. In the back corner of the store sheet music flies into the air when Steven yelps and drops everything in his arms and Indiana, frozen tremblingly still in Jack’s grip takes a deep breath and begins to sob in fear. “Whoops, too late.” The woman is trying very hard not to laugh as she offers the wooden stick to them.

 

“He’s fine. You’re  _fine_. Here, don’t hit me with it.” He plucks the bell rattle from the woman and shakes it until stormy grey eyes unclench, jingling out a random percussive line until fat little hands reach out and snag the instrument. He shakes it tentatively, grinning a watery smile. “We’re not giving this back, just add this in as well.”

 

He texts his daughter to tell her that he’s feeding his grandson early and takes both boys to the closest diner that looks like it might offer macaroni and cheese and not mind a pair of bell sticks, because Steven needed one as well. The food isn’t healthy enough to satisfy his daughter, or his girlfriend for that matter, but both boys are happily filling themselves on elbow noodles in florescent yellow cheese sauce. The three of them are coloring an epic battle between a dragon, a knight, and little ugly monster things that are probably Pokémon, on the backs of reports so classified it’s technically treason for Jack to even have them out of his laptop case. Indiana keeps ‘helpfully’ adding bright scribbles of color that Steven works in without complaint, adding another stick wizard or mutant pet thing around the swirls and scrawls of color until they run out of all the highly sensitive material Jack can get away with defacing.

 

The park and ice cream are obvious choices, because he’s hardly going to head back across town for half an hour just to come out again, but by the time his daughter walks back through the front door Indiana is sitting up on the floor, stacking boxes of dry goods and swaying along to a halting but, so far, correct version of Nina Simone’s ‘Don’t let me be misunderstood’.

 

“That isn’t Debussey, Jack.”

 

“And for that, you’re welcome.” The purse of her mouth is more amused than anything else and she’s had her hair done, the ends curling flirtily around her jaw. “There was ice cream, but I fed him first.” Stephen sighs dramatically but doesn’t stop playing when Jack slides off the bench.

 

“Proper food?”

 

“Proper is a relative term. It had some nutritional value and wasn’t fried; that’s the best I can promise you.” He grins when she doesn’t pull away from his one armed hug.

 

“Then you’re already two up on what he’s normally given when I’m not around. Steven, come tell Jack goodbye so he can get this baby home. It’s getting on.”

 

“Alright, soldier.” He hunkers down and lets Steven hang from the back of Jack’s neck as he stands. “Time for me to get going.”

 

“Noo!”

 

“Yeees. Indiana needs to go home before his parents beat me back and find him on the wrong side of the border past bedtime.” He settles the bigger boy on his other hip, kissing him loudly on the side of the head. “Okay, you; work on your finger spread and be good for your mum.”

 

“Okay.” Steven digs the heel of his palm right down on Jack’s collarbone to lean across the top of Jack’s head and rub the baby’s back. “Bye Indy.”

 

“Bye-bye.”

 

Alice walks him to the truck, lips pressed together in thought as she watches him buckle the baby into the car seat.

 

“I’m thinking about selling the house. And before you can start throwing money at this like that’s the problem, it’s not that. The judge had the mortgage note taken out of the account right off the top and we’re in no danger of not having somewhere to go but, I never really liked this place as much as Joe did. I’m sick of living in his ugly house. I was thinking we might go somewhere quiet, near the coast?” She tucks her hair behind her ear and takes a deep breath. “I need you to find the end of that  _thing_  you work around and then find me the next moderate sized town above that.”“I can do that.” He’s already thinking of a couple nice towns up on the north coast that he thinks she’d like living in.

 

“Good.” Her hug is quick and she steps back before he can squeeze her as long or hard as he wants to. “Bye, Jack.”

 

“Night, Alice.”

 

***

 

They get back in Cardiff a little past six-thirty and they’re cutting across the north side of town towards home, Jack thinking very seriously about just picking up dinner in town and taking it to the Hub instead.

 

“That’s a better idea, right? We’ll go check in with your parents, bring them something to eat and if we time this right we’ll get there right after they finish the check-in with South America.” It’s a good idea and he’s swinging towards the on ramp to head for the Plass when his halogen lights sweep the shadows under the overpass and send back two bright electric blue flashes from the depths. Only Weevils have an eye shine in that color and this overpass is way too far away from any of the Northside nests and way too close to a tent city for Jack’s comfort. “Well, we might still make it. Hold on.” He jerks the truck across three lanes and onto the access road leading towards the shadowy underpass. Behind him Indiana is looking around curiously, because that’s life for you. It gives you weevils and wide awake babies at the same time. “It’s a good thing I have a dvd player, isn’t it?” In the rearview Indy is leaving tiny teeth marks up and down the handle of the bell stick, brows furrowed down as he watches Jack intently. Cheyenne hates the dvd player, insists that kids get more than enough opportunities to watch televisions without adding them to cars, but Jack’s never been happier to have one as he pulls the SUV under the furthest light. “All right, time for some Yo Gabba Gabba!” He keeps his eyes trained on the not distant enough sparks of electric blue in the distance, eyes narrowed as it doesn’t scurry away from the large vehicle pulling in so close to it, and kills the headlights, thumbing through the disk caddy in the center console by feel. He flicks the lights back on and isn’t surprised to see that the weevil has crept closer in the dark, close enough that its outline can almost be seen clearly. The reflection from its eyes are bigger and Jack snags a disc, feeding it into the player by feel and genuinely hoping it’s not the one with The Jumping Jellyfish dancey-dance as he folds down the screen and fits a silencer onto the barrel of his weapon.

 

He  _hates_  the Jumping Jellyfish.

 

“Alright, Agent. Your job is to sit here and watch that screen. I want a full report when I get back.” He leaves the engine running and Indiana staring enraptured at the screen as he slides out of the SUV, pulling his weapon up as soon as his feet touch the tarmac. He closes the door gently, using his vortex manipulator to lock the truck down as soon as he steps away. Inside he can hear DJ Lance Rock leading older children in a cult like chant to summon forth the singing multi-colored monsters and at the edge of his headlight’s beam the weevil is edging closer towards the darkness in a way that Jack doesn’t trust. It’s the movement of a predator, not a scavenger. The Webley is gripped carefully in his hand as he moves further and further from the truck, watching the alien silhouette match him step by step through the darkness until he’s on the edge of the street lamps’ light. This isn’t going to be one that they can scare away from humans by a rough capture, a little bullying, and some relocation to a ‘foreign’ nest. The alien stalking him has become an accomplished hunter of modern man, judging easily the distance between its prey and the safety of the vehicle as well as the distance between itself and Jack and it’s keeping itself protected by the dark while trying to herd Jack away from the truck.

 

This is a man eater he’s hunting, and the only thing that cures a man eating Weevil is a bullet.

 

“Come on you, you’re throwing off my time table. Let’s go!” He take a breath, steps completely out of the light, and it charges at once. No growl, no roar, no feints; just a fast loping rush directly at him. It’s over pretty quickly, a couple shots into center mass and the alien crumples less than ten meters from him. Jack keeps his eyes on the dark mass, sidling back towards the truck with his weapon still out. The truck chirps twice as he disarms it and slings open the back utility door. The pink teardrop is skipping around onscreen, warbling about friendship and Indiana’s bell stick is just barely visible above the seat back as he shakes it along. From the corner of his eye, the weevil is still on the ground and Jack dares to lean into the back of the truck and yank out the big black locking toolbox that Ianto keeps loaded into the trunk of all their personal vehicles with a rough field kit stocked inside.

 

The weevil is still there when Jack closes the door and heads back towards the body, toolbox in hand. Once he gets the halogen camp light set up he can see that the big male is older than he’s used to seeing in the wild and Jack pulls on a light pair of chainmail shark gloves before grabbing a bite proof bag and whipping it over the head. He barely gets his hands clear as the head whips to the side, jaws automatically snapping shut hard enough to be audible. Not for the first time Jack wonders what kind of planet Weevils come from where evolution felt the best course of action was to have the corpses’ nervous system continue to send an automatic feedback loop completely independent of life that only carries one message ‘bite in the direction of pressure’. He reaches back into the bite zone and yanks the drawstring tight, wrestling the heavy body into weevil manacles and then heaves the corpse up by the chains until it’s hanging over his shoulder and carries it back to dump at the tailgate. It takes two trips to get everything reasonably cleared up and by the time Jack opens the door to put the car seat in the front passenger’s seat Indiana is sound asleep, thumb settled in between his lips and bell stick still clenched in his fist. He kills the airbag before movingthe car seat to the front, throws the still twitching body in the far back, turns off the Jumping Jellyfish with relish and checks the clock as he turns the engine over. It’s a little past seven and if Cheyenne and Ianto aren’t already gone from the Hub, they will be by the time he makes it across town.

 

Which is probably all for the best since he can only imagine Cheyenne’s reaction to him locking her infant in a running vehicle under the overpass while he hunts weevils, much less putting one in the car with the boy regardless of it being dead. Dead probably would make it worse, actually. This gives him a chance to get rid of the body without having to sneak it in. He makes it all the way across town and pulls the truck into the loading dock, a tension he didn’t know he was carrying melting away when he sees that the garage is indeed empty. He’s never dragged a body from the loading docks to the incinerator as fast as he yanks this one through the halls, trying to dump it before the lack of movement and sound wake the baby. He has to leave the corpse slumped over on the floor because it’s still snapping if you touch anything above the shoulders, but he’s going to have to come back in at some point tonight and dispose of it before it starts to stink. He scrubs his hands in the nearby eye wash fountain and makes it back to the truck before Indy can do more than start to squirm in sleepy annoyance.

 

“Shh shh, yes, I know. Come on, let’s get you back in the middle where you belong and head home. If your parents ask, there was no weevil; got it?” Indy gives him a sleepy smile while he’s being strapped back into position and Jack climbs back behind the wheel and takes out his phone. The line rings twice and he can hear the car radio in the background when it’s picked up on the second ring.

 

“Hi there, stranger!” Cheyenne chirps into his ear. “We’re almost home.”

 

“Well, you’re going to beat us there by almost half an hour since we’re at the Hub hoping to catch you two before you left.”

 

“Ha, told you he wouldn’t be able to stay away.” Ianto manages to sound both smug and distracted, a good sign that he’s brought work home with him and is pretty sure he can finish it before the car pulls into the drive. “I win.”

 

“You lose. You said he’d show up while we were there, and he didn’t, so  _I_  win.”

 

“I fed your son,” he interrupts. “And wanted to see if you two had eaten yet.”

 

“You’re a space locust, baby, I  _know_  you ate when you fed Indy.” He did, which has nothing to do with being hungry now. “We already had supper, but I’ll make you something for when you get home. We’ve got leftovers from last night, want me to make you a bowl of slop?”

 

“Yes.” He’s long given up on arguing that it’s not a bowl of slop if it’s exactly the same thing they’re eating. Besides, Cheyenne skips the step of making him mix it up himself and reheating everything together so that the rice and gravy cook down into a porridge before she adds the veg and leftover meat. Unlike Ianto, she’s willing to take his word that it tastes better that way, although she still refuses to take so much as a bite. “With jellied cranberry.”

 

“You make me so glad I’m never going to have to eat food from the future, Darlin. Hurry home or your mess in a bowl will get cold before you get here. Love you!”

 

***

 

Because he happens to have picked a particularly fantastic family to be a part of this time around, not only can he smell dinner from the moment Jack lets himself in the front door, but Ianto’s right there to pluck his sleepy son out of Jack’s over crowded arms.

 

“How was your tattoo show?” Ianto gives him a small smile, shifting Indiana to his hip.

 

“Fantastic. How was skiving off of daycare?”

 

“Fun. Your son has well placed admirers’ along the chain of command at UNIT. He’s been invited to see Earth’s first flying warship. He’ll step foot on the Valiant over my cold dead body, but it’s a nice gesture none the less.”

 

“The Hub is better than an airship anyway. Your supper’s getting cold.” Supper will keep another minute, long enough to settle the diaper bag and laptop on the floor and wrap his hand around the back of Ianto’s neck, reeling him close to nibble on his lower lip. Ianto’s fingers are long as he tangles one hand in the back of Jack’s hair, scratching gently at the scalp and steering the immortal’s head exactly the way he wants it. “Seriously, she’s going to be annoyed if you let that get cold.” The words are spoken lip to lip.

 

“I’m going.” He stays pressed against the other man for another long second until Ianto pulls away with a smirk and scoops the diaper bag up on his way up the stairs to put his son to bed, leaving Jack to grab his own bag and head for the back of the house. From the corner of his eye he can see the dogs come plodding around from the library and the brown one stops with an annoyed grumble when Jack points at him, the black one all but writhing in place in joy that Jack is looking at him.

 

“Fuck off.” If that brown one could talk, he’d tell Jack to fuck off himself, ignoring the outstretched finger pointing him back where he came from to cut across the hall and head directly for the kitchen. The fluffy one at least has the decency to drop that curled tail towards the floor and scurry in shame as it totally ignores Jack’s command and follows the other dog towards the family room.

 

“If you’d use their actual names and commands instead of saying ‘fuck off brown one and fluffy thing’ they’d listen to you.” She’s perched on one of the tall stools, sipping at something not quite pink but apparently very fizzy next to a steaming spaghetti bowl full of rice and gravy porridge with chicken, mushy peas, and corn mixed through it, a glistening blob of jellied cranberry sitting on top. “Kiss me  _before_  you eat that.”

 

“I’m telling you, it’s delicious.” She snorts and wraps her arms around his neck when he bends to greet her.

 

“If you say so.” She pulls back and presses the rim of her glass to his lips. “We spent an hour today trying to invent a cocktail that shouldn’t work but does. This is your cloudberry with ginger beer. I think I hate it, but then every couple of sips I think I like it. It’ll probably be better with booze.” The taste is bright, dry, and would definitely be improved by a good sparkling wine as opposed to a harder liquor.

 

“No, it’s good; you should have made yourself one.” He laughs, plucking the glass from her fingers and carrying it around to his seat.

 

“Asshole.” She leans over and thumps her head against his shoulder before sliding down and heading over to the fridge. Overhead Ianto’s footsteps become audible as he hits the hall seconds before he comes down the kitchen stairs at a jog. He stops by the open fridge to pinch Cheyenne’s bum, neatly sidestepping the aimless kick backwards before reaching in over her and yanking out a bottle of water.

 

“So, what did you and Indy find to do today?” Ianto’s leaning against the far counter and Jack shovels a generous spoonful of his now purple dinner onto a slice of bread, folding it in half and taking a bite as he briefly considers telling the pair looking at him expectantly about the day he spent with his other family; his fantastic grandson who calls him Uncle Jack and his short tempered, contrary daughter who has never quite forgiven him for not coming to find her when she and Lucia disappeared, and who  _still_  carries a grudge over her first and only encounter with aliens. His daughter who has made him swear, on threat of never seeing Steven again, to never tell anyone she exists.

 

“Oh, we signed some paperwork, made some admirers, cursed at some Seagulls and went to a music store before we hit the park. He has a bell rattle now.”

 

“Better than cymbals, I suppose.”

 

“Oh, speaking of cymbals and your son…” It’s a cute anecdote, one he can tell without editing and he does, watching the pair grin as he describes the startled look on Indy’s face as cymbal met cymbal with all the strength his little arm could put behind it.

 

“That’s  _adorable_.” Cheyenne is all but melting in place as she stirs her juice and soda, sipping at it and grimacing before adding more juice. “I’m sorry I missed his musical trauma. So, what made you guys stop by a  _music_  store?”

 

“Hmm?” He takes another large bite and cocks his left brow curiously while cursing himself for not anticipating the question. “Oh, just wandering around browsing, thinking about my next hobby.” It’s been his habit for the last century to pick up a new skill for his downtime every five years. He’s been painting badly,  _very_  badly, for the last five years and is really looking forward to chucking out every last oil paint, water color, and brush he has stashed in the closet of the yellow bedroom. In fact, now that he’s mentioned it, it occurs to him that he really is leaning towards learning another instrument come January. “I can finally quit painting ugly landscapes.”

 

“They  _are_  hideous. Every time I see you cursing at a canvas I’m glad I don’t have to stick that wreck on the fridge.” Ianto’s poke cuts off Cheyenne’s laughter. “What? He’s  _awful_  at it and he’s the first person to admit it.”

 

“He’s awful because he paints things he doesn’t care about one way or another.” The corner of Ianto’s mouth twitches upwards. “And because he didn’t bother learning to draw first.”

 

“Haha. I don’t see you with a brush in your hand.”

 

“I’d hate to shame you at your own hobby.” Ianto’s voice is primly smug and Jack snorts because the Welshman mostly doodles stark black pen cartoons when he’s working out a problem or killing time on a stake out, but Jack’s seen the results of Ianto and his nephew sprawled side by side with pencils in their hands often enough to know that the younger man can probably back up his claim. “So, you’re learning a new instrument? Did you pick one?”

 

“I narrowed down the options.” Mostly to the first two things he can remember seeing. “Any preferences between the Jazz Sax and the Violin?”

 

“Saxophone.”

 

“Violin.” He snorts as the two of them promptly give simultaneous and conflicting answers, shoveling in the last two heaping forkfuls of food and cramming his bowl into the dishwasher unwashed before Ianto can notice and make him pre-wash the thing.

 

“I’m going to go get changed.” He leaves them threatening each other with twenty minute free-form jazz odysseys and jug bands, taking the back stairs two at a time. Indy isn’t sleeping when Jack sticks his head into the nursery on the way to the Master suite, standing in the cot with his thumb still stuck between his teeth, dinosaur getting in the way as the boy tries to rub his eyes without dropping the strangle hold he has on the long plush neck. “Hey you, come here.” The little footed pajamas are a light cotton and still too hot if the way Indiana keeps squirming and whining is any indicator. “I know, Daddy keeps making you wear clothes. I keep trying to tell him, less clothes is never a bad thing, but he’s stubborn.” The blue and white fabric with its chunky stripes is left puddled right in the middle of the cot as Jack plucks the baby up and continues on to the bedroom.

 

If he gets them settled before Ianto and Cheyenne make it to bed, then they’ve got time for a cuddle before Ianto comes up and carts his son back off to the nursery.

 

The housekeeper has been by today while they were gone, because Magda is the only person who folds Jack’s sweatpants and puts them in the top drawer. Indy stays curled right in the middle of the big bed, busy trying to take all of the pillows while Jack slides into sweatpants so old they’ve gone almost white.

 

“Make room.”

 

“No.” Indy has crawled over to Jack’s side, pulled all his mother’s pillows with him and is refusing to look up, curled face down on the blankets with his butt stuck right in the air.

 

“Yeah, you keep thinking that.” The boy giggles as Jack reaches down and shoves him over flat onto his side, rolling him up in the blankets and out of the way long enough to slide in. “There we go. Come on, let’s cuddle.”

 

“Y’ss.” The boy doesn’t bother fighting his way out from under the covers, crawling along under them until he’s curled up with his head on Jack’s sternum, batting irritably at the blankets until Jack peels them back. Alice used to curl up the same way, so that she could hear his heartbeat when he put her to sleep. “J’ck?”

 

“What?”

 

“Ni-ni.”

 

“Night Indy.” Indiana’s back is almost exactly as broad as his hand from fingertips to the heel of his palm, much bigger than Alice was at this age and he lets his hand sweep back and forth absently, soothing the boy back to sleep.

 

***

 

“Hey, come look at this.” Ianto looks up from where he’s putting Jack’s now rinsed dishes back into the dishwasher to see Cheyenne leaning over the railing, hair loose around her face and the hem of an old baseball jersey swinging around her thighs. He holds up a finger long enough to slot the bowl back where it goes and close the door, starting the machine before following her up the stairs. She takes his hand, fingers curled loosely with his as they head for their room. They can see the bed as soon as they turn the corner into the room, Jack sprawled out flat on his back, Indy rising and falling with the man’s breathing, sandwiched between Jack’s chest and his hand as the two of them sleep deeply. It’s their favorite position to cuddle in, but Ianto’s surprised to see Jack sleeping so deeply. The immortal man can run on as little as an hour over the course of a couple weeks and even regularly doesn’t tend to do more than a couple hours light sleep over the course of a week. Their entering the room should have been enough to make him open his eyes. Even still, they back slowly out into the hall before she speaks again. “This is the third night this week he’s slept. Do you think something’s wrong, maybe?”

 

“Nope. Honestly, I think he’s just enjoying his week off. Come on.” He wraps his arm around her shoulder, pulling her against him and pressing his lips to her hair. “Let’s go watch a movie and let them sleep.”  
 

 

 

 

 

  
 

 


End file.
